


Since He Fell

by Grizi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Man on man sexiness, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grizi/pseuds/Grizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach - John Watson has lost track of time since...the fall. He told Mrs. Hudson that he couldn't go back to 221B just yet...but how long ago was that, really? What has he lost other than time? What will he find upon his return? No other way around it, this is Slash/Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return to 221B

Doctor John Watson stood in front of the door to 221 for seconds…minutes…hours? He knew he needed to go in. He needed to see the place that Sherlock had been last… the place he had been happy last. John stood there, forcing himself to man up and open the damn door.

He hadn't been back in days...weeks…months? He didn't even know why he was standing there now. But now that he was there, he refused to turn tail and run away. John reached for the door and turned the knob. He hoped Mrs. Hudson was not at home. He was still not ready to talk to her…not really ready to talk to anyone…hadn't talked to anyone except himself since…since the fall.

The darkness of the hallway blinded him for a moment. Or maybe it was the figure he imagined at the top of the stair? He blinked two times…three…four? On the last blink, he held his eyes closed, determined to not lose what little sanity he had left here in what had been their flat.

Their flat. When had it become  _their_  flat? He had only called it Sherlock's flat for the longest time because it had been so obviously, so wholly Sherlock's, not his, even when he'd moved his few things in. But somewhere in the year and a half they'd roomed together, it had become their flat. John couldn't remember when exactly that had happened. He opened his eyes and the apparition was gone from the top of the steps.

He determinedly set his foot on the bottom step and started up. The flight seemed so much longer than he remembered. By the time he reached the top and the door to B, his leg was bothering him. It had started bothering him on a regular basis, but the doctor in him knew it was still psychosomatic and he would be fine if he could remind himself of it. He shook his head.

"Just stop it, Watson," he growled to himself, "you will  _not_  use this as an excuse to start limping again. Sh-sher-sherlock would have your dignity for that."

He reached for the knob to 221B and was surprised to see the door slightly ajar. Maybe Mrs. Hudson was in? Perhaps she was cleaning. He stepped inside and called out quietly. He didn't want to disturb her if she was downstairs.

"Hello? Mrs. Hudson? Are you here?"

No answer. Mrs. Hudson had probably gone in to clean sometime in the past few days…weeks…months…and forgot to properly close the door. He still couldn't figure exactly how long it had been since he'd been back. Time had seemed to get away from him since…since the fall.

He felt the tears gather in his eyes again. He'd shoved them back so many times. But here, in this room that he'd seen so many wonderful things, learned so much about himself and his flat mate, he felt safe letting them go. He let the tears fall as he wandered around the room. His fingers traced the back of Sherlock's chair…the fireplace mantle where the skull had been…the kitchen table, still piled high with glass tubes and beakers with elements of dried experiments still left in the bottom. He stopped and stared at the table. He hadn't been here in quite a while, he realized. It had been at least weeks…possibly even months.

He turned to step toward his old room and saw the coat on the hook in the corner. His breath stopped. It wasn't the one Sherlock had been wearing that morning…or was it? He reached out to touch it, to make sure it wasn't just another figment of his imagination. It was real…oh, so real. And it was the one he knew, the one he could have sworn Sherlock had been wearing the day he…fell. He grabbed it like a lifeline and buried his face in the wool. It had been cleaned, but it still held remnants of Sherlock's unique smell.

His breath hitched at that thought. How did he know Sherlock had a unique smell? When had he become aware of that?

Holding on to the coat, he continued into what had been Sherlock's room instead of his own. Here, the scent of the man was still evident…the pervasive smell of tobacco that never left even when he was not smoking; the smell of the rosin used on his violin bow; the smell of toothpaste and cologne and something else…something uniquely and totally Sherlock and no one else. John closed his eyes again as he realized the tears were streaming down his face once again.

It seemed natural for him to crawl into Sherlock's bed and surround himself with the scents of Sherlock with the sheets and blankets. He balled the coat up in his arms and hugged it tight, as if holding it close could bring back the shape that should fill it. The tears flowed into sobs. The sobs that should have wracked his body weeks…no, months ago now, destroyed him, making him a puddle of grief and despair.

He missed him. John knew that. He'd known the moment Sherlock had…fallen, but even his grief-stricken brain could see that it wasn't just missing his best friend as he'd told his therapist. That gave him pause. If it wasn't his best friend, who was he? The epiphany hit John like a car hitting a brick wall. He knew. And he sobbed even harder.

He had sworn to every human being that would (or wouldn't) listen that he was most emphatically, unequivocally not, not, NOT gay. His best friend was gay, but he was not. However, gay or not, he had fallen in love with Sherlock. It wasn't just the love of one man for his best friend. It wasn't the craving of companionship. It had become something that allowed John to breathe each morning…something that was his life essence. His plea to Sherlock's gravestone should have clued him in. And the loss of that essence since Sherlock's…fall is what had reduced him to this ball of mush.

His sobs started anew, tearing him apart physically, emotionally, mentally, even spiritually. He beat himself up for not knowing…not seeing sooner…when something could have actually been said about it…done about it. He cried for the loss of the only thing he could have had, should have had…the one thing that would have made him happy. With the knowledge that he had lost something he never had and now could never get back again, John Watson fell into a restless sleep, still clutching the wool coat of the only man he would ever love.


	2. Lost Man Found

Sherlock heard the sobs from his room as he came up the steps. It was easy to deduce who they belonged to, but why was he here? John was supposed to be safely away from 221B. He'd told Mrs. Hudson that he couldn't go back to the flat.

Of course, that had been two months, seven days and twelve hours ago…That gave him pause. That long? And he had accomplished nothing towards John's safety. For that was why he'd done everything…not for Mrs. Hudson…not for Detective Inspector Lestrade…for John…The others were important to him, but John was the reason for everything. John was the reason he even considered the others friends. John was the reason he saw himself as a  _part_  of the human race, not above it…though he did still feel he was a part of the upper echelon…

The sobs had stopped. His logical, genius mind told him to turn around and walk back out the door. His logical, genius brain told him that seeing John was a very very bad idea. But something he had deeply buried until recently…his heart…cried out to see him, if only for an instant. His very logical, genius mind screamed at him, telling him it wouldn't be that easy. But his body and heart were in accord and he found himself opening the door to his room.

His heart stopped at the sight of John Watson buried in his bed. How he had dreamed of that sight for so long…It was a beautiful sight to his heart. But his logical, genius brain took over and saw how thin his beautiful friend had become, even under the covers of the bed. He was compelled to step closer to investigate the destruction John had wrought on himself.

Sherlock pulled back the sheet and duvet gently. John had his coat balled in his arms, his nose tucked deeply in the material. He could see very little of his face, but what he did see was haggard and unshaven.

He knelt next to the bed as his hand reached out and carefully pushed the long sandy hair from over John's eyes…long…too long. Even though his touch was gentle, John lifted his chin from the material of the coat and leaned into the touch of Sherlock's hand. When his hand brushed the skin of John's forehead, John moaned softly and his eyes opened for a moment. Sherlock stopped moving…stopped breathing. John's eyes drifted closed again on a sigh, "Sherlock."

Sherlock felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. He didn't often cry, but the plea in John's sigh made him want to stay…made him want to comfort John. He shook his head and stood. His logical, genius brain told him to run and his heart actually listened. He turned to go, looking up at the ceiling to force the tears back.

"Sherlock?" he heard again, stronger this time, "Sherlock, please don't leave me," John begged softly.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder. John's eyes were open, his hand reaching out to him.

"Please," he said again, "I don't know if I'm dreaming or not…but I need you to stay."

Sherlock couldn't respond. He didn't dare. Maybe if John believed he was just a dream, he could stay a while and then leave to finish his mission.

"Please," John said once again, so simply.

The moment Sherlock placed his hand in John's, he knew he was lost. John pulled him down to the bed on top of him. John's mouth immediately found Sherlock's and crushed his lips against him.

His logical, genius brain screamed at him that this was his worst idea ever, but his heart and body completely disagreed as he ferociously kissed John back. His hands roamed John's face, trying to memorize the changes that his leaving had created. He pressed his body into John's, frustrated by the layers of bedding and clothing that separated them. It was if John could read his thoughts.

"Too many clothes," John mumbled through the kiss. His hands started pulling at buttons on Sherlock's shirt. His feet and legs started shoving at the bedding between their lower bodies.

Sherlock worked John's jumper up his body. He broke the kiss as he pulled the jumper and shirt under it over John's head. The forcing of the jumper over his head caused John's hands to rise over his head and presented Sherlock with the opportunity to kiss and explore John's face and neck without the distraction of John's hands on him. He held the material so John was pinned and slowed his kisses. He kissed John's forehead…his cheeks…the tip of his nose…and finally his mouth. He explored John's mouth. Sherlock licked at John's lower lip and his mouth opened to him. He pressed his tongue into John's mouth and was instantly invited and accepted. Suddenly, the urgency was back as Sherlock attacked John's mouth, tongue battling tongue.

Sherlock worked on getting John's jeans and pants off, trying desperately to not break contact with the other man's mouth. He didn't really know how he had done it, but suddenly, both John and he were naked and he was lying on top of the smaller man, reveling in the feel of his skin touching John's. He began a slow, torturous descent down the younger man's body, exploring every curve and crevasse.

"Please, Sherlock," he begged once again, "Please."

Sherlock had never heard such beautiful words.


	3. Together

He knew that John was thinking this was all a dream. His logical, genius brain kept yelling at him that he was taking advantage of a slightly delirious man, but his body and heart could not completely pull away. He slowed his actions and slowly pulled his hands away from John's body. The keening sound that came from John almost convinced him to continue. His logical, genius brain won out and Sherlock lifted his head.

"John," he whispered, sliding up his body, "John, I'm here. Please wake up."

"I won't, Sherlock," John whimpered, his body writhing under Sherlock's, "If I do, you'll go away again…I can't bear for you to go away again."

"John," he said again, "please. Open your eyes. Please, look at me."

John's eyes slowly opened. Sherlock watched as the dreaminess slid away and was replaced by sadness. Almost immediately, the sadness slid away into hope and joy…and Sherlock dared wish, love.

"John, love," he said softly, "I'm here. And somehow, we've gotten each other quite naked…and hard...please tell me you want this…because as much as I want you, have always wanted you, I won't make the mistake of taking you unwillingly."

John smiled a sly little smile and squirmed his body under Sherlock's.

"I am fully awake now, Sherlock," he said with a smile, "And obviously, we both are very excited about the prospect of being naked in bed together."

"John," Sherlock moaned, "I'm sor-"

"No," John said roughly, placing a finger over Sherlock's lips, "Not now…Later…Prove to me you're here," he begged, "Make me believe. Make me feel again."

One of his hands slid to John's hip as his lips grazed John's stomach and descended to his cock. He tentatively licked the head and John's hips bucked, trying to get closer to the warmth and wetness of Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock pulled back teasingly. He smiled at the whimpers and pleas from John…He'd never thought to hear them from John. He traced the vein on the underside of John's cock with his tongue as he reached down and gently grasped his balls.

John squirmed again, shoving himself deep into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock took the hint and began to suck in earnest. He felt himself grow harder as John groaned at the sensations and bucked deeper and deeper into his throat.

Sherlock released John's balls and slid his hands to the crooks of his knees. He pulled John's legs up into the air and started licking his balls. He took one into his mouth, then the other, then both. Then he licked down, down...When he flicked his tongue against John's pucker, his entire body lifted off the bed.

"What the hell? Bloody hell!" he yelled, his head thrashing from side to side. Sherlock paused to watch John heave about. "Don't stop," John begged, "Oh dear, God, Sherlock, please don't stop!"

Sherlock smiled as he dipped his mouth again and began rimming John's tight hole. He poked gently into the pucker with his tongue and John sighed. Sherlock pressed deeper and John whimpered. Using his mouth to wet his finger, Sherlock gently pressed a finger into John's ass to the first knuckle.

"Oh!" John gasped, "Sherlock…yes!"

Sherlock pushed his finger in to the second and then the third knuckle and John growled. As Sherlock began thrusting the finger in and out, John started thrusting back. Sherlock added a second finger and repeated the process. John's moans and writhing got more frantic. As Sherlock began to scissor his fingers, spreading John open, John continued to beg for more.

He leaned back over John and took his mouth gently, trying to show all the tenderness he felt in that moment. He showed how he felt for John in that one kiss, trying to get him to understand all the words he wanted and knew he shouldn't say. He pulled back and found John's eyes full of tears. Sherlock kissed away the ones that had slipped onto his cheeks, murmuring words of love and tenderness. John reached down and grasped Sherlock's cock in his hand, guiding it to his hole, lifting his legs around Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock pushed himself forward, fully aware that John had never done this before. He locked eyes with John as he entered him ever so slowly and ever so gently. John hissed as Sherlock pushed past the rim of over tight muscles at his entrance. Sherlock paused.

"More," he whispered, "Please, Sherlock. Don't stop."

Sherlock pushed in further…and further. He allowed John to accommodate his intrusion as he very slowly entered. When their pelvises were solidly connected, John groaned loudly.

"Oh god," Sherlock muttered. He wasn't going to last long with John being so vocal. He pulled back to slide out and immediately pushed back in. The friction had the both of them moaning.

He looked into John's beautiful eyes and saw the consent. It was all he needed to start up a gentle but insistent rhythm. John allowed him to set the pace, but was by no means passive. He lifted his hips to change angles. He guided Sherlock's hand to his cock and set up a tandem rhythm to their connection. His hands roamed Sherlock's body, sending thrills up and down the younger man's body. His eyes never left Sherlock's face. Sherlock's never left his. They blended their breathing. Each knew the moment the other was ready to come. In that instant, John pulled Sherlock into a mind-blowing, soul searing kiss as both let loose their orgasms.

Sherlock milked John's cock while John's ass did the same to him. They neither wanted to separate, to part. Sherlock kissed John lightly one last time before he gently pulled out of him. The whimper from John almost convinced Sherlock to stay connected, but his logical, genius brain won the argument. He slid off John, pulled him into a hug and pulled the bed clothes over the two them all in one motion.

"Was that proof enough that I'm here?" Sherlock asked cheekily.

"For now," John mumbled tiredly, his hand gliding down Sherlock's body to his cock, "Jus' don' leave me," he begged, "Please, Sherlock…don' ever leave me."

Sherlock felt John's breathing even out before he could respond. He thanked whatever being or entity that was above that he didn't need to answer, because he never wanted to lie to John ever again. And his job, his mission was not done. So leaving was something he was going to have to do whether John liked it or not.


	4. The Morning After

John moved as he came back to consciousness and felt the arms tighten around him. The sun coming through the curtains told him it was morning, but still early. It took him half a breath to determine that everything that he'd believed an acute hallucination in the night had actually happened. He felt the delicious ache that penetration had caused and reveled in the seamy thoughts that were running through his mind. He felt the hardness of Sherlock's form behind him; all of his hardness and it made him hard in return. He snuggled his body closer to the warmth of Sherlock. And immediately began to cry.

The joy of having him there; the joy of being surrounded by Sherlock's warmth; the joy of knowing he hadn't completely lost his mind overwhelmed him.

"Don't cry, love," Sherlock whispered in his hair, "I'm here now."

The reassurance only brought on the sobs. John cried unabashedly as he hadn't the entire time Sherlock had been gone. Sherlock's gentle hand brushing his hair back only made it worse. He wanted to ask him to stop so he could gather his thoughts and emotions, but it felt so good having Sherlock touch him, watch over him, comfort him.

Sherlock held him uncomplainingly, tenderly until the sobs and then the tears subsided. He said nothing of substance, only holding John lovingly and murmuring gentle comforting sounds.

When the tears had completely run their course, John wiped his eyes and turned so he was face to face with Sherlock. He placed a light kiss on Sherlock's lips, but pulled away before either of them could deepen the kiss.

"I love you, Sherlock," he whispered warmly, but immediately changed the tone of his voice to continue, "but if you ever do that again…if you ever leave me like that again, you best hope you are dead, because if not, you will suffer unimaginably!"

John saw the humor alight in Sherlock's eyes, but Sherlock wisely neither laughed nor said anything witty. Instead, Sherlock hugged him tight to his chest, tucking John's head into his collarbone.

"I am so profoundly sorry, John," he said sincerely, "I never wanted things to happen that way. I truly thought I could best Moriarty at his game, but I also knew I needed to be prepared. He had me over a barrel…It hurt so much to have to do that to you. I hope you know that?"

Sherlock grasped his face gently and made John focus on him.

"I love you, John," Sherlock whispered, "I've never felt this way about anyone in my life…and it nearly, truly killed me to have to leave you even for this past short while.,,"

John looked at him. He saw the hesitation in Sherlock's eyes. And he immediately knew.

"You're not staying, are you?"

John saw the vagueness take over; returning Sherlock's countenance to the cold, unfeeling Sherlock he'd originally met.

"No," John replied for him, the tears gathering in his eyes again, "You're not."

The sadness that crept back into Sherlock's eyes was mirrored in his own, he knew.

"I can't, John," Sherlock finally replied, "I wish I could, but I still have a few factions of Moriarty's web to destroy. I won't let you be in that kind of danger ever again."

"Take me with you," John begged, holding him close, "Please."

"John," he sighed, "I can't. You have to stay here. I need you to protect Mrs. Hudson, keep an eye on her."

"Have your brother put a detail on her," John suggested.

"There already is," Sherlock replied with a wry smile, "and you as well. But they're Yarders…And you know how I feel about the intelligence of most Yarders."

"Then tell him to put MI5 on it," John said stubbornly, "I want to go with you."

He felt Sherlock retreat both physically and emotionally.

"No, John."

John pulled away and sat up, planting his feet solidly on the floor next to the bed. He thought about getting up and finding his clothes, but he couldn't make himself distance himself from Sherlock any more than he already had. It was why Sherlock's rejection of his offer to accompany him was so devastating.

"John," Sherlock pleaded, reaching his hand out to brush the back of John's arm, "please. Believe me. I would take you with me, but they are still watching you. My staying here last night put you…put all of you in grave danger. I have one more…"John heard Sherlock's breath hitch, "I have one more lynchpin before the entire web is destroyed. I don't know who it is, yet. If I did, I could protect you from them. But I'm close, John! I'm so close to deducing who it is! The clues are there…here…It's the reason I came back to London."

John shot an angry look over his shoulder at Sherlock before turning his back on him again.

Sherlock sighed sadly, "No, John…I hadn't meant to see you. I-I've compromised this whole bloody mission just because…oh, bollocks!" Sherlock cursed.

John turned back to see the tears streaming down Sherlock's face. He'd only seen Sherlock cry twice since they'd met…once when The Woman died and once, from a distance when Sherlock…fell. He reached out to Sherlock, touching the back of his hand.

"Sher-"

"No, John," he interrupted, "I can't-I can't lose you! Please understand! Please! Let me do this one last thing. Let me make it right...make it safe for me to come home to you…for good…forever…please!"

John was stunned at Sherlock's fervent plea. Sherlock never begged. He never actually ever said please. He liked the idea of Sherlock being home with him forever. He grabbed Sherlock's hand as he crawled back into the bed, closer to Sherlock.

"Is there a way you can at least keep in touch?" he asked.

He saw the joy in Sherlock's eyes. Another stunner. It wasn't the joy of a humorous moment, or even the joy of a solved case. It was a joy of knowing John understood exactly how important it was to Sherlock to complete this mission with John safe.

"Oh," John added with a cheeky grin, "and can you keep your bloody brother from continuously harassing me?"

Sherlock gave him a watery smile and laughed.

"I can keep in touch," Sherlock said, "I'll get the new burner app for my phone and text you whenever I can…And I'll talk to Mycroft about leaving you alone…though I do have to admit that part of the reason he's been such a pain in the arse is because I ordered him to keep you safe. Of course, Mycroft never does things the easy way."

John shook his head. Two months "dead" and he was still aware of the new gadgets and apps for his phone.

"No, he doesn't," John replied with a cynical smile, "Bastard's been interrupting my daily routine of wandering the streets of London so much, it's become routine."

Sherlock put his free hand to John's face.

"Please stop doing that," he bid quietly.

John nodded. There was no need to ask what Sherlock meant. He knew that his daily forays into the seedier parts of London had been his way of challenging fate, begging for someone to hurt, or better yet, kill him so he didn't have to long for Sherlock so bloody much.

"Not needed any longer," John said with a small smile in way of a promise, "I'll be a perfect little homebody now…Here…Waiting until you come home to me."

He felt the tears pricking at the back of his eyes once again. He leaned into Sherlock and kissed him before he leaned back again.

"Please don't make me wait too bloody long," he begged.

"I'll do my best, my love," Sherlock said, "I'll do my best.


	5. Sex and Laughter

Sherlock leaned back in and took John's lips with his own. The passion that flared between them was suddenly so hot, he could feel the heat radiating between the two of them. He deepened the kiss and pulled John into his lap. His hands wandered John's body, exploring what was already too familiar to him.

He had been so distracted by the feel of John's skin under his hands that he hadn't noticed John's hands drifting as well…until his hand found his fully erect cock.

"Oh, John," he murmured against John's lips, thrilling at John's boldness and willingness to explore. They were both fully awake…both fully cognizant of everything that was happening between them.

"Love me," John sighed into Sherlock's mouth.

"Always, John, always," Sherlock returned.

"Now, Sherlock," John demanded, "Please."

"I love that word," Sherlock said with a grin as he pulled his lips from John's.

"Please," John said with a broad grin on his lips now.

Sherlock flipped John onto his stomach and ran one finger teasingly down his spine. He thrilled in John's shiver at the touch.

John moaned as Sherlock's finger found his pucker and began messaging it back and forth. Sherlock leaned over and laved his ear, breathing a hot breath over the moistened lobe. John shivered again.

He heard the drawer to the side table open and shut.

"I'm sorry I didn't use this last night, but we were both out of our minds with need" Sherlock said quietly.

John heard the squirt of liquid from a small squeeze bottle and felt the chill of it as it ran into the crack of his ass. He groaned as the chill very quickly heated as Sherlock messaged it into his buttocks. The heat and tension became almost unbearable as Sherlock teased him. When his forefinger penetrated past the tight ring of muscle, John whimpered.

"You like that?" Sherlock asked cheekily.

"Yes!" John answered without thought, "More, please! More!"

Sherlock obliged and added a finger. John tensed and then quickly relaxed into the sensation.

"Sherlock," he whined, "please. PLEASE! More!"

Sherlock smiled. Now that John knew the word was pleasing to Sherlock, he'd use it as often as possible.

"Soon, love, soon," he sighed into John's neck.

He thrust both fingers deeply, searching for the bundle of nerves. Knowing John had never been with another man, he was pretty sure John had never had his prostate messaged. As he found it with the tip of his fingers, John's entire body jumped, pushing against Sherlock's hand.

"Oh, god!" John groaned, "Yes, Sherlock! Oh, god! I think – ungh – god, Sherlock, I'm going to come!"

"Come for me, John," he growled in his ear, "Come. For. Me."

Sherlock's finger stroked his prostate on each word pushed him closer to the edge.

"God, Sherlock!" John said, the tears flowing again, "Oh, god, I love you!"

"I love you, too, John," Sherlock whispered.

John came then. He felt the wetness of his seed under him as he let loose all over the bed. He buried his face in the pillow and wept tears of joy. Sherlock kissed his ear and slid over so that he was positioned over John, his cock fitting comfortably in the crack of John's ass.

He leaned back over John and whispered, "Don't cry, my love. Don't cry for me."

John looked over his shoulder at the taller man sprawled over him, the tears still on his face.

"Not to give you a bigger ego than you already have, you prat, but I've never felt this way or come that easily with a woman. It's a bit…overwhelming."

"Well," Sherlock said with a devious grin, "if that overwhelms you, let's see what this will do."

He pushed into John's ass so gently, so slowly that John felt only the pleasurable sensation of being filled completely. When Sherlock's hips pressed into John's ass cheeks, Sherlock pushed slightly deeper with a grunt and John echoed him.

"Am I hurting you?" Sherlock asked in concern.

"A little," John replied honestly, "but it feels too good. Please, don't stop."

Sherlock pulled back, pulling himself almost completely out of John. Instead of completely burying himself again, he repeated the slow, arduous process of filling John and retreating. John very quickly felt himself growing hard again. John wasn't sure how Sherlock knew, but Sherlock reached under John and took his shaft in his hand. He started stroking John in time to his penetration. The fist on his dick and the cock in his ass set him off.

He used all his strength to lift the both of them from the bed. Sherlock understood and removed his weight while John settled himself on his knees and shoved back against Sherlock.

Sherlock took the hint and increased the pace, bit only slightly. John tried to set a rougher pace, but Sherlock insisted on slowing them down.

"Take your time, John," he said softly as he slid back in deeply.

"No!" John wailed, "God, Sherlock! It feels so bloody amazing! I want more!"

Sherlock increased their pace a little more. John growled low in his throat.

"It's not enough, Sherlock," he said, "More!"

Sherlock started rocking into him faster and John kept saying, "More!" Soon, Sherlock was slamming into him, his balls slapping against John's perineum with every thrust.

"Ungh! Yes!" John moaned, "Yes! Good!"

"Yes," Sherlock breathed, "God, John! Oh, yes! You feel so damn good!"

"Fuck me, Sherlock!" John demanded.

"Yes!" Sherlock yelled, "John! Oh, god, John! I'm…I'm, coming, John!"

He thrust hard and deep, digging his fingers tightly into John's hips, pulling him closer than he thought possible. He felt his release and continued pumping into John until John screamed Sherlock's name in his own release.

John's strength failed then and he collapsed into the pillow. Sherlock fell with him and unintentionally buried his softening member deeper into John's ass, brushing John's prostate once again. John's spasm at the intense contact elicited a deep groan from Sherlock as John's body contracted even more tightly around his cock. Sherlock tried to pull away, but John clenched his muscles even more tightly.

"Don't you dare," John said, turning his face to Sherlock.

"John, I'm too heavy for you," he said weakly, not really wanting to move.

John simultaneously turned them and wrapped Sherlock's arms tightly around his waist. Sherlock's softening cock was suddenly not growing soft any longer.

John chuckled. He loved knowing that while Sherlock had always and would always have trouble expressing emotions, it was obvious that his body would always betray him.

Sherlock started chuckling as well as he grew harder, buried in John. He knew what John was thinking. He pushed forward and John groaned.

"How can you be ready to go again?" John asked incredulously.

"It is all you," Sherlock said through a beatific grin, "I have never felt this randy in my life!"

John looked over his shoulder at Sherlock and reveled in the lecherous grin he was receiving.

"Wow," he said, "I will take that as a compliment."

"Take it as such," Sherlock smiled. He pulled his lower body away slightly, and grinned at the whimper that sounded from John. "But it means you're going to probably be shagged within an inch of your life!"

"What a way to go!" John sighed as Sherlock pushed his fully hard cock into John again.

Suddenly, both of them were laughing uproariously. Sherlock held John tight so as to not break their contact. John made sure to push back into Sherlock to keep the contact as well.

Through his laughter, Sherlock buried his face in the back of John's neck and whispered, "I love you, John."

"I love you, Sherlock," John replied seriously, all laughter gone as he pulled Sherlock's arms even more tightly around him. "I'm so glad you're home."


	6. Alone, but Not Lost

When John woke, he was alone. He almost yelled out in the near physical pain that hit him. He wrapped his arms around himself in self-comfort. The tender ache in his entire body confirmed that he had not dreamt it, but the other side of the bed was empty. He closed his eyes, forcing the tears back. He refused to cry again. He tried to concentrate on the fact that Sherlock was alive and not that he was gone. He'd known Sherlock had told him he would be leaving. John had just hoped that Sherlock would have wanted to at least say goodbye.

When he heard the door open, John laughed out loud and turned his head to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, a loaded tea tray in his hands. He dashed the stray tear that had escaped from his eye and sat up, his happy grin belying the agony of the seconds previous. Sherlock hurriedly put the tray down on the dresser and stepped to John.

"You thought I had left," he said, indicating he had deduced the entire situation in the three seconds he had stood at the door. He took John's hand and leaned in to kiss his lips gently before he continued, "I'm sorry. I was trying to be back before you woke."

John's hand moved to the back of Sherlock's head and pulled him back in for another kiss. He deepened the kiss, licking along Sherlock's lower lip and thrusting his tongue into Sherlock's mouth when it opened. Sherlock's tongue sparred with John's for a few long moments before he pulled back.

"John," Sherlock said seriously, "we need to talk."

"No," John said, "we don't."

He leaned back in to take Sherlock's mouth again, but Sherlock leaned back far enough that John couldn't reach him from the angle he was sitting. He moved to shift his position and Sherlock stood and walked to the tea service. He calmly poured John's tea and turned to hand it to the now pouting ex-military doctor. He quickly stepped back, leaning against the door jamb.

John looked at his tea sulkily. He realized that Sherlock very rarely made him tea, but when he did, it was usually a gesture of apology. He didn't want to hear apologies. He only wanted to hear Sherlock tell him he was staying.

"Yes," Sherlock said, finally breaking the interminable silence John had let build, "we do."

"Why?" John asked angrily.

"Why, what, John?" Sherlock returned, his anger and frustration obviously building, "Why did I jump? Why did I not include you in my plan? Why did I let you think I was dead for two months? Why couldn't I tell you how I felt before I left? Or do you want to know why I came back?"

John sighed heavily, unable to respond.

"I know the 'why' you want answered most," Sherlock continued sarcastically, "You want to know why I have to leave again. I already told you this one, John. I have no choice."

"All of it!" John nearly screamed, the outburst startling him as much as his "Damn my leg!" had been that very first day that Sherlock had left him sitting in the flat with Mrs. Hudson puttering about.

Sherlock took it all in stride and that only angered John more.

"A very simple answer, John," he said tenderly, all sarcasm and anger gone from his voice, "All the answers are the same."

John just looked at him, stared at the gaunt but still beautiful creature standing impassively in front of him. He took in all the changes he should have seen the night before. He had the scruff of a heavy five o'clock shadow. His hair, nearly shoulder length, had been dyed a flattering shade of ginger. Those naturally striking cheekbones that normally looked sharp caused his face to look skeletal, at best. His loose robe showed his normally thin but defined torso was now skin stretched over almost extreme muscle mass. His hip bones jutted out from the pajama bottoms he'd tightened to his frame, but the pants hung looser than they ever had before.

"Sherlock?" John choked out, all thought of 'whys' gone out of his head, "What happened to you?"

Sherlock chuckled disdainfully before he answered, "You weren't around to remind or force me to eat."

"Sherlock!" John cried out again, putting his tea on the bedside table and making to move to him.

Sherlock stepped forward, dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around John before he could move. John's arms automatically went around him. His lips connected with the skin stretched over Sherlock's protruding clavicle. When John felt Sherlock relax into his accidental caress, he moved his mouth to the pulse point in Sherlock's neck. Sherlock moaned lowly as he tilted his head away to allow John more access. John lightly bit at the skin and then lapped at the reddened mark he had created.

"John," Sherlock sighed, his hands beginning to roam John's naked back.

John licked a slow, wet trail up Sherlock's long throat, nibbling at his Adam's apple along the way. John slid one hand up Sherlock's back to bury it deep in his curls. He tugged the hair just slightly and Sherlock twisted his head enough to give John contact with his earlobe. He took it between his teeth tenderly and nibbled at it while his hand gently massaged Sherlock's scalp.

"Oh, god, John!" Sherlock groaned, "You are so amazing at that!"

John felt Sherlock's hands bury in his hair and smiled against Sherlock's neck until the sharp pain from it being pulled at the roots forced him to lift his head.

"Sher-" he started to protest, but Sherlock stopped him with a crushing kiss. He immediately opened his mouth to Sherlock's intruding tongue. Sherlock stroked John's tongue with his own almost viciously. He ravaged John's mouth until John became pliant and agreeable in his arms.

Without warning, he released John, stood and stepped back to his position at the door.

"I-I…I can't-" Sherlock stammered, "I can't. I-I want to…but I can't."

John smiled devilishly as he eyed the now tented pajama bottoms.

"I'd say you could," he said wickedly, "And I wouldn't say no!"

He made a move to change his position and Sherlock groaned and then shouted, "God, no!"

"Dammit, John! Behave!" he begged, "How did I not know how infuriating you could be?"

Without a beat, John replied, "Because you've always been more infuriating than I ever could be."

Sherlock scowled at him for a moment and then burst into laughter.

"Too true, Doctor Watson," he chortled.

John burst into laughter at that. The laughter washed over both of them, soothing aches and agony. It was as if the last three months had never happened, as if nothing of the pain they had endured ever existed. As the laughter comfortably died, John just continued to smile beatifically at Sherlock.

"There's your answer, John," Sherlock said with a loving smile, "There's the very heart of the simple answer to every 'why' you have. It's elementary, my dear, dear Watson. I love you. You love me. And I could not lose the moments like this to anyone, let alone a madman like Moriarty."

John sighed again. He knew it wasn't that simple, but for Sherlock, it was exactly enough. Whatever else came next, he knew they would get through it. They would get through it together. And since he fell, it was the first time John Watson could make himself believe it.


End file.
